Marianne glared down at the photographs in her hand, her lips curving into a vicious smile. So, her instinct had not betrayed her after all. The mask of hate, the act of indifference—it was all nothing but a carefully crafted lie.
Her eyes lingered on the pictures of Melanie and Adam together, caught in moments that were far too intimate to be dismissed as coincidence. There they were, clinging to each other on vacations, arms wrapped around one another as if the world did not exist. There they were again, standing too close, gazes locked in a way that spoke of unspoken promises. Marianne scoffed softly. If these two truly despised each other, if they were as detached as they claimed, then she would gladly sit down and eat iron nails one by one.
